


Unbroken Past

by Ridja



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: (past) Drug abuse, Brief mention of Kilgrave, F/F, btw this is spoiler free for Defenders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 22:04:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridja/pseuds/Ridja
Summary: 'Care is such a small, insignificant word compared to the amount of feelings you have for her. Care is what you learned to feel for that sweet idiot who's always around whenever you need help at work or even to fix something in that slumber you call an apartment. Like is what you feel about the bulkier idiot who wanted to help you face Kilgrave, only to find himself caught in his web as well. But with her, the word ‘idiot’ is not even involved.'Trish is kidnapped and drugged, bringing back old memories and feelings for Jessica.





	Unbroken Past

Normally, a call from Dorothy Walker would be the last thing you’d accept, but the text she had left you was enough to instantly put you on the edge and turn a visit from that bitch into something acceptable. This is beyond anything else, beyond your despite for the women or the fact you still wanna punch her Botox face every time you see her. It doesn’t matter. This is about _Trish._

“Jessica, please answer your phone. Patricia has been kidnapped.”

Your first reaction upon reading that text was to instantly drown yourself in guilt for ignoring Dorothy’s previous calls. Maybe after six in a row, you should’ve answered. But as always, you were too proud. And now it’s been hours since Dorothy got the text in the first place and if anything happens to Trish, you’re never gonna forgive yourself. If there’s anything, anything at all that still holds you in place, it’s her. And if you ever lose that, you don’t know if there’s gonna be anything left of you.

You still wanna punch Dorothy’s face, though. She’s sitting in front of you, at the office table. Tears streaming down her face as if she has ever cared enough about Trish and didn’t suck the life off of her with that stupid Patsy brand. _Hypocrite._

“We both know there’s no time to talk or argue. Yes, there’s a hole in my wall. No, you cannot make a comment on how crappy my apartment is. Now show me your goddamn phone.”

“I don’t think I can watch it again, Jessie… Please.” She passes you her phone, there’s a video frozen at the beginning but you can already see Trish’s silhouette behind the giant play icon. You click on it.

You’ve seen this kind of shit before. There was a particular case which still resides within you where a little boy was kidnapped and beaten up, but you did get to save him in the end. Still, the memory of his bruises and wounds are nothing compared to what you see now.

It’s cliché, but still sucks. There is a dark room with nothing but a chair which she is tied up to. Still conscious, thank God, but her eyes seem off. She is staring into the ceiling, laughing on her own. You can’t quite tell from the video, but you know her pupils are dilated. You’ve been through this before. More than you’d like to remember.

She’s high. Worse than that, she’s tripping.

You don’t have much time to think about it because a person wearing a piece of cloth over their face with two little holes cut out for the eyes appears in front of the camera. Your trained eyes analyze their figure as best as you can in the horrible light of the video. You can tell it’s a male. Expected, of course, but it still frightens you. Normally, Trish would be able to fight and defend herself, but she’s clearly in a psychotic state and if they dare to touch her, you won’t respond for yourself.

“Hello, Dorothy. I’ve heard that you’re owning us some money for a while. So, how about we make a deal? You pay in 48 hours and you get to keep your daughter alive. But don’t worry! I can’t tell where she is right now, but I’m sure she is having a good time!” He dares to fucking laugh. Trish laughs with him and the video goes off.

“What the fuck, Dorothy?! You’re owning money? Is illegally gambling a part of your futile high society activities now?!” You can’t really handle yourself. Before you can even noticing, Dorothy is being raised above your head level and your hands hold her by the neck. You stare fiercely at her. She’s scared of you. She’s always been. But you hate how much her eyes look like Trish’s when she’s scared, so you let her go.

“It doesn’t matter now, Jessica. It’s just a little game.” You roll your eyes.

“Did you lose everything? Are you broke or some shit?!”

“It doesn’t matter what’s happening to _me_ , Jessie. Pat… No, Trish. Please, I know you care about her.”

'Care is such a small, insignificant word compared to the amount of feelings you have for her. Care is what you learned to feel for that sweet idiot who's always around whenever you need help at work or even to fix something in that slumber you call an apartment. Like is what you feel about the bulkier idiot who wanted to help you face Kilgrave, only to find himself caught in his web as well. But with her, the word ‘idiot’ is not even involved.'.

“Yeah, I’m doing this shit. I’m not losing her. You? I’m not so sure, so just tell me what you know about this ‘little game’. And if you know who the owner is.”

****

The “casino” is hidden on top of a coffee place in a fancy neighborhood no one would ever think to look for illegal shit like this, but if you learned something about the rich and famous world is that illegal stuff is very common, but the police doesn’t really punish the white privileged.

It’s not the type of place one would expect to find when they hear “illegal casino”. It’s surprisingly clean and well taken care of. The décor itself is fancy and shiny and there’s three ivory tables where the gambles happen. At this time, around 4PM, only one of the tables is occupied by women who look just like Dorothy, plastic and fake, or man who could not look more cliché. They’re old, look like pedophiles and their pretty tuxedos are smudged by cigarette’s smoke. You roll your eyes. This is one of the crowds you hate the most.

“Excuse me, Miss. May I help you?” The hostess approaches, seeming intrigued by your presence. You wonder if it’s the dark holes under your eyes or those goddamn jeans you wear everyday.

“Yeah, I’d like to speak to the owner of the place, please.” You take on the friendly approach, even though you really just want to punch, kick and take down everyone who stands on the way of rescuing your Trish.

She freezes for a moment.

“Are you from the police?”

“No. I’m looking for my friend.”

“You’re here after Patsy, aren’t you?” She swallows and you notice her hands are shaking. “I-I’ve never wanted to take part in this… I just wanted easy money...” She’s surely no older than 19. In a way, you feel sorry for her and her innocence of thinking that working in a place like this would never get her into any trouble.

“Do you know where she is?” You read the name on her badge. “Alyssa?” She nods.

“I can’t… I shouldn’t tell you. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt...” She sighs heavily, writing down an address. “We’ve lost other girls before, I don’t want to...”

  
“Hey, it’s okay.” You say, being as soft as you can since you kinda suck at that. You take the chance to give her your card. “If you get in any trouble, lemme know, okay? Thank you for this.”

****

You don’t even bother abut being discreet, taking down the warehouse’s door with a kick so you can you enter the place. Instantly, two dudes show up, each pointing a gun at one side of you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Are we really doing that?” You ask, rolling your eyes.

“There’s a debt to be paid. She’s not leaving until the deal is done.” You roll your eyes. These fuckers have no idea on who you are. And they _definitely_ don’t know who you can be when Trish is in danger.

“Oh, I’m getting her.” Is all you say with a little smirk, before ducking as soon as they start shooting. Then, you pounce at one of them, punching the men’s face. Not full force, even if you feel like it, but enough to knock him out. “Oops...”

“What the fuck?! Dorothy hired a fucking karate fighter?!” You smirk, kicking the remaining guy’s stomach.

“Krav Maga. It’s more brutal.”

You don't know shit about karate or any other martial art, but remembering Trish's smile when she said those exact words gives you some comfort in between all of that.

Once they’re both knocked out, you start looking around the warehouse, making sure no one else is there as you look for Trish. But before you get to her, you notice something on the floor. It’s an open suitcase and from afar you can guess what it contains. You sit down in front of it, sighing heavily as your suspicions are confirmed. Drugs. Worse. Fucking PCP.

“Shit. Shit.” You curse under your breath instead of your usual loud cursing. It had to be that damn thing. That shitty thing that turned Trish’s life into hell. That and cocaine. You start to shake, taking a few deep breaths, needing a few seconds in an attempt to block those painful memories, but they come anyway.

You were both fifteen the first time you saw her doing. Same way she caught you lifting a sink on the bathroom, you caught her snorting in a line of white powder. She didn’t really notice you at first, but it’s not as if you could keep quiet for long as soon as the initial awkwardness was gone.

“What the fuck, Trish?!” She jumped, startled at first, but then crossed her arms and stared at you with those fierce eyes. A steady glance that grew up with her.

“It helps me, okay? Don’t bother! And if you tell mom I’m never speaking to you again!”

“Trish… She’s not worthy...”

“Shut up!” You were pushed out of the bathroom. And that was the first time you actually felt as if you couldn’t save her.

***

Finally, drifting back into the present, you find a door that leads to that weird room. Trish’s chair is right in the middle of it and the camera stands in front of her. It’s bizarre. But it’s likely you’re both being watched right now and you don’t really know if you have much time before some sort of backup comes so you approach her. Her face is red, her pupils as dilated as you expected. Her whole body shivers and it breaks you inside in a way that shouldn’t be possible for a person as damaged as you are. You approach, but she looks at you in fear at first. Her eyes are red too. She has been crying and that breaks another little piece inside of you that you didn’t know was still whole.

“J-Jess?”

“Hey...” You gently touch her hair. It’s as soft as ever against your palm. You let her locks run across your fingers for a few minutes, hoping that still has the power to calm her down as if did when she had a bad trip. If she isn’t in one yet, you know it’s coming.

When you were both about 17, she had evolved from doing just coke to heavier shit. Her purses are always packed with the infamous “Angel Dust”, also known as PCP. She had a group of “friends” to get high with. Some of them were just like her, teenagers who ended up on the wrong side of showbizz. They all hated you, but you still followed her everywhere. You didn’t trust any of those fuckers to take care of Trish so you kept yourself sober and made sure you could bring Trish back home.

The trips she had with that group were okay. Trish would always be lost in ecstasy and euphoria, laughing stupidly and pointing out how beautiful the world was and how much she appreciated the world around her. It was also during that time that you found out she liked girls as much as boys and wondered if, perhaps, you could feel the same. It would explain why sometimes your eyes would fall on Trish’s cleavage without second thought. Still, you hated her girlfriend. She was always feeding Trish up with more pills, making sure both of their supplies were never out, but that was all she was good for. You were still the girl who would bring Trish back home and hold her close till she was off of her high.

The biggest issue, however, was when she started using at home, whenever Dorothy was away.

The first time it happened, your lazy afternoon nap was interrupted by the sudden noise of Trish’s scream. Your first reaction was to jump out of the bed and run towards that sound, only to find her shrinking herself against the corner of her room, close to the wall. She stared into space, shivering strongly. You had to force yourself to swallow to try and ignore how desperate that made you feel. She needed help. Badly.

“Don’t come close!” She screamed at the nothingness. “Don’t!”

“Trish, what…?”

“Jess! It’s gonna get you too!” She jumped from her place and grabbed your hand, pulling you to the other corner of the room and clinging close.

“Uhn, there’s only us here...” You let out a heavy sigh.

“Only us?! But… But it’s looking at me. It’s saying I’m ugly and pathetic and...” You still remember what it felt like when she leaned against your chest and got your t-shirt all wet with her tears. “I’m so sorry, Jess… If it kills us, it’s my fault. Everything is always my fault...”

How could you ever forget that whenever she had a bad trip, the monsters would speak out Dorothy’s words?

“There’s nothing there, Trish. It’s the drugs...” Was the last thing you were capable of saying before snuggling her close and letting your own tears get lost within her golden locks.

You’re back from those memories again, untying her, but she doesn’t seem to have the strength to get up. Without thinking twice, you place an arm under her thighs and embrace her with the other. Trish wraps her own arms around your neck, snuggling close as you lift her up. It’s relieving. The warmth of her body close to yours, the smell of her hair and neck near your nostrils. She’s there. She’s alive. She’s fine.

****

You decide not to tell Dorothy just yet, heading to your place and laying Trish on your bed instead. It always feels strange to have her there. Like a single flower blooming in the middle of a junkyard. She’s still tripping, looking up at the ceiling as if there’s something looking back at her. You can only hope it’s a good thing now, but she doesn’t look scared.

This is way too familiar. It’s not the first time you lay Trish down the bed and guards her until she is sober again. It takes hours, so you know you’re gonna stay there for a while. You’ve seen her cry, scream and giggle. Sometimes, a different emotion per trip. Others, all at once. Truth is, before you were taken captive by that goddamn bastard and felt as if you were dying everyday, this is what ruined you: to see something so perfect shred herself on purpose.

You sit down beside her, watching every little part of her face. Trish has been clean for so long. It’s not like any of you would be able to handle all of that again. That Jessica still had enough pieces to break herself and fix Trish. Now? You don’t even know if you have enough to keep yourself up. But still, if she needs it, you're gonna find a way. 

You pour yourself some whiskey as Trish enters the euphoric state, giggling on her own and talking about how beautiful the world is. She is aware of your presence again, since she calls you by the name and even smiles at you. You can only nod and smile back. She goes like this for a couple more hours and you never leave her side.

****

“Jess?” She calls when you’re almost falling asleep, an empty bottle of whiskey forgotten on the floor and you can only answer with a “hmm?”

“Please don’t let me come back to it. I’m coming down and it feels too good. I don’t want it to feel good...” Her voice is breaking and you feel her taking your hand and squeezing it. She’s as scared as you are and given that empty bottle which was full a few hours ago, you now know how hard it is to give up this kind of shit. Swallowing hard, you pull her close, caressing her hair and embracing her close. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have your arms around her as if she was the only thing in the world that truly matters to you. She still is. But for her own sake, you had chosen not to act on these feelings or even let her know. But God, they never really left you. And you doubt they ever will.

“You’re not gonna come back to it...” You say softly, softer than you normally speak to people. She’s the only person who can get that off of you. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” She sounds relieved. You don’t expect her next move when she gently grabs both sides of your face and pecks your lips longly. She tastes even better than you would’ve expected and you can only hope she won't remember this when she's completely off. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is based on a prompt I got on tumblr.  
> 'Trish is kidnapped and they drugged her, so besides Jessica freaking out and saving her she deals with the aftermath of her grind drugged and reviving the past of Trish addiction'  
> I took some liberty of not going too further into the investigation since this was not the focus for this story.  
> Also, if you'd like to see more of this, hit me up. I'd love to write more of this kind of angst. Gotta love suffering for these two ;-;  
> That said, I hope you all enjoy! You can catch me on tumblr at the-mightywanheda.


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